


The Last Daughter of Artio

by Jougetsu



Category: Brave (2012)
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Gen, Other, Paganism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/pseuds/Jougetsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was always magical, it's the world that wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Daughter of Artio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silencedancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silencedancer/gifts).



Carving was as much as what was there as it was about what wasn’t. Taking the soft inner body of a tree and giving it form to mimic a bear, it was a very simple soothing form of magic. Transformation was always a strong point of hers and it was one of the few magics she had left.

When the world was young she ran through the forests fleet-footed as a doe, danced through the bogs lighter than a leaf on the wind, and knew where the three realms touched each other. When the world was a little older her powers grew stronger. When the trees dropped their fruit her consort came and they tumbled in the leaves of gold-red-brown-orange. When the snow came she slept in a cozy dark cave and traveled the world-under-the-world. When the flowers came she gave birth to little ones who grew up to be strong and wise. Sons who drank of sacred springs and sang the songs of the gods. Daughters who hunted by the light of the stars. 

The world got older. 

In the sky the gold-and-silver discs were a wee bit weaker, duller. Men walked, women walked, roaming the hills and braes in search of what ne’er was lost. Her consort stopped coming, too weak to hold fast to the middle realm. Bright silver went her pelt, her hair, and she no longer grew large with child. 

Changing shape took too much spirit from her. So she hobbled in the skin of a crone. She was not done with this world yet for she still remembered her children even though they forgot her more every season. 

Potions and brews were easy gifts to bestow on her forgetful children. Water, fire, and the living things of earth came together under her gnarled fingers and her wooden spoon. Carvings were only for certain children. Children who needed to learn a little something about world before they took their journey of maturity. 

From time to time she would meet a child who stole her very breath with the force of remembrance. Children descended of her own sweet cubs, their bones strong, their blood quick, and their hearts wide. It was always very hard not to take them away with her into the forest, to teach them what she knows and bring the world back a little of the old magic. She ne’er does for their mothers would be as sorrowful as shadows are long at sun sink. 

The will-o’-the-wisps liked to lead folks to her, mischievous things that they were. She couldn’t deny her gratitude for their part in easing her loneliness. At the full moon she gave them a each a berry from the upper realm in thanks. 

One day she took a wee rest from carving, her old old old bones cracking with weariness, when the wisps brought her a maid with a name from across the sea and a bow on her back. This one made her laugh return and she thought perhaps the old ways were reviving at last. She found she didn't care if this slip of a girl had a drop of her blood in her or not. Courage and will were best tempered by adversity. The fire-haired young one would come out all the braver for a trial or two.

But if nothing else she’s got a new patron for all her lovely carvings.

**Author's Note:**

> When I first saw Brave I thought of the Celtic-Gallic Goddess Artio who said to take the form of a bear. Which made me wonder if the Witch had an Artio connection. Which turned into the idea that the Witch was an older, weaker Artio a la American Gods (gods become stronger/weaker depending on their amount of believers and the actions of the believers). 
> 
> Artio's consort in myth is often thought to be Esus/Essus. 
> 
> Merida would be a foreign name in Scotland as it is derived from the Latin 'Emerita.'


End file.
